


A Bed of Stone, a Heart of Gold

by Baeowulf



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Adventurestuck, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Kurlin, Meulin Leijon and Kurloz Makara matespritship, Meulin Leijon/Kurloz Makara - Freeform, Meulin/Kurloz - Freeform, Meuloz, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 16:22:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baeowulf/pseuds/Baeowulf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three months ago, Kurloz Makara made the biggest mistake of his life. Three months ago, he bit off his tongue and sewed his mouth shut in penance.<br/>Then the meteors fell.<br/>Beforus was destroyed under the hail of fire and stone, and monsters sprung up across the world, as well as strange creatures called consorts and mythical structures rumored to hold the fabled 144 quest beds.<br/>Kurloz has heard of these beds, and he has a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bed of Stone, a Heart of Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this is my first fic written for homestuck and my first one written in second person. While it isn't my first fic, I am trying out some new things, so bear with me. I don't know right now how many chapters it's going to be, or exactly what's going to happen, but we'll just have to see. If you didn't notice, the main pairing is Meulin/Kurloz, so there is going to be some angst/comfort/feelsy moments in it, but I am going to try to make it a happy fic overall.
> 
> With that out of the way, enjoy!

 Your name is Kurloz Makara, and you cannot believe what you just did.

She stares up at you, blood dripping from her soft little ears. “P...Purrloz...?” she whispers, her eyes watering as she comes to the realization that she can't hear her own voice. Meulin, your matesprit, the most important person in the world to you, was crying on your chest because of something you did. Because you couldn't fucking control your voice.

Meulin bawls into your chest, and you weep into her hair, crying apologies and asking forgiveness as your indigo tears mix with her olive tears and blood, staining the white spots on your shirt, and the blood from her ears crusting on your hands as you cradle her head. She screams and cries until she can't anymore, but it doesn't fucking matter; to her, the only difference is a bit of pain at the back of her throat, and that doesn't matter a bit. You clutch at her head, your fingers lacing through her beautiful long hair, trying to take back what you did, trying desperately to make everything better.... but you can't. She looks up at you, and snarls through tear-filled eyes, spitting an accusation that she can't even hear as she throws herself off of you and sprints away to be alone.

It breaks your fucking heart.

 

3 months later

You walk into the room, feeling the vibrations as the door creaks open at your delicate push. Kurloz sits in front of a mirror, lightly touching the stitches on his lips. You feel a lump in your throat; you know why he chewed off his tongue, why he sewed his mouth shut, but... you try not to think about it. You sneak up behind him, having learned after three months how to move quietly without being able to hear the sound you make. You pounce the indigoblood, wrapping your arms around his bony shoulders and nuzzling your nose against his sinewy neck.

“Hi Purrloz!” you chirp, gauging your voice by sense of touch and memory rather than hearing. In the mirror, you see Kurloz smile, his lips stretching into that placid curve of his behind the thick bands that bound them tight, behind his repentance. He turns around in the chair, wrapping his arms around your slim waist and planting his hands on your back. A low purr sounds in your throat as he gently presses his lips to your forehead, like he's afraid his touch is going to break you.

He's always like that now.

His lips smudge some of his freshly applied face paint on your skin, but you don't care. You smile at his touch, giggling softly. A single bony hand unwraps itself from around you, lifting in front of your face, “hey, linkitty,” it signs alongside Kurloz' smile. It's strained, his smile. Full of regrets and remorse and fear, but it's a smile nevertheless, and a week ago that was more than you could have hoped for. His wild, dark hair brushes your forehead. You nuzzle against it. He leans up and presses his lips to yours, brushing a small kiss onto your lips through the bands.

The stitches sting more against your heart than they do your skin.

You clasp your hands behind his head, leaning back and swiveling his chair around so he faces you as you climb onto him, straddling his lap, your tail swishing slightly behind you. You take his face in your hands and kiss him, gripping his lips through his stitches with yours.

It's not the same. You can't kiss him like you used to. He can't kiss you like he used to, all lip and tongue and teeth, getting between your lips and teeth and tongue and mouth and drowning you in himself.

It's still perfect.

His hands slide down your back, settling softly first on your hips, then on your ass. You don't object. His big, bony fingers were made for your curves, laying perfectly along your skin in their touch and their caress. You purr, and slip your tongue in between his stitches, licking between his lip and teeth as best you can. He shudders, and his hands involuntarily tighten their grip on your butt. You growl a bit, nipping at his lips and pressing your face into his as he presses back into yours, holding you tight and close to him. It's painful, and hard. His stitches get in the way almost as much as months of guilt and remorse, almost as much as how he's still afraid to hurt you, still afraid to be near you and to touch you like you're some tiny snowflake that the tiniest breath would destroy forever. You can feel his worry, feel his concern, feel his guilt, painted far clearer in his sinew and muscle than his sewn lips and mutilated tongue.

If only he could see that.

If only he could see that you weren't mad at him, that you overreacted and that you shouldn't have yelled at him when the accident happened. If only he could see that he's paid for the accident for far too long, paid in tears and blood and sweat that sank like stones to the bottom of your heart. If only he could see that you don't just pity him, but something stronger than that... if only he could stop punishing himself for your sake.

But he can't. It's too late and too soon for that all at once.

You're snapped back to reality as he grips your lip with his between his stitches, his bony fingers gently yet firmly digging into your flesh, pulling up your skirt as he squeezes your ass. You purr loudly and moan softly, your tongue lapping out of your mouth and snaking through his lips and through his stitches, brushing softly against the stump of his tongue. You tighten your arms around him, holding him as if to tell him that everything is ok, that you're here for him, that he doesn't need to be afraid.

You know it won't work, but you try anyways.

His hands move in small circles, gripping your ass and sending shudders up your spine. You groan into his mouth, your hands sliding down his front and into his pants. He moans into your mouth as your slim fingers wrap around his thick bulge, coiling it in between your fingers and your hand and squeezing ever so softly. You can feel the tension even in his most intimate parts, and slowly, you start to knead, working out the tension and the fear and trying your best to replace it with love and comfort and forgiveness. He groans, his body melting under your hands, his fingers slipping under your panties and against your flesh, kneading and softly pinching your gray skin between his knuckles. Your chest vibrates as you purr, and slowly, you work his pants down ever so slightly and guide his fingers up to the hem of your panties, working his mouth with yours all the while. You pull his hands down, revealing both of your most intimate body parts, your petite bulge entwining with his as you shift yourself on top of him. A low groan rumbles into your lips as you position yourself on top of him, his bulge sliding eagerly along your nook. You reach a hand down, spreading yourself open as you ease your weight onto him and him into you. You both moan at once, the vibrations rumbling through each others lips and faces and throats into your bellies, quickening your blood and heightening your skin.

You push him deep into you, your fingers laced around the base of his bulge as it slips into your body. You gasp as you come to rest against his legs once more, his bulge throbbing and twisting ever so slightly within the confines of your body. It's been a long time, and you're tight from lack of practice, and he's still just as large so just the slightest shock of pain shoots up your back, but it's accompanied and engulfed in rivers of electrifying pleasure rushing up your spine and into your pan, clouding your mind with endorphins and pheromones and the scent of him and the feel of him and the taste of him as you lick his lips and his jaw and his neck. His hands shakily slide up your back to cradle the back of your head, holding you close to him as you start rocking your hips, sliding up his length and ramming back down onto him. You press your head against his chest, your skin drinking in his breathing and his trembling and his pleasure as you ram him into you, panting like a car in heat. Your fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt as you quicken your pace, feeling the wetness as your fluids coat his slick bulge, tiny bubbles popping against your thighs every time you bring yourself down on him.

He howls. You scream. You feel his bulge shudder inside you as you bring yourself down on him all the way, forcing him deep into your body, and you can feel his warmth spreading inside you as genetic material spurts from his bulge and deep into your nook, some of it squirting out onto both your thighs from your nook around his bulge. You pant, and you lean against his chest, breathing heavily. He embraces you, and you purr, sweating, coming down slowly from the high of sex, kneading your fingers in his clothes and breathing in his scent and his musk as he holds you tight, rubbing his face through your hair.

You fall asleep, and for the first time in a long time, everything seems right.

 

-

You pull the leather strap taut around your back, smiling into the mirror, looking into the white paint and black stitches and hair that stare back out at you from the mirror. You don't wear much armor; just enough boiled leather plate to protect your pusher and right shoulder, but it's one of your fondest possessions.

She made it for you.

You grab your clubs off the wall, long wooden bats cloven down the middle with sharp bits of shrapnel shoved into the slit, the two halves of each club held together by strips of canvas and leather. You swing them deftly into their clips on your back, grunting contentedly as their familiar weight slides into place. You sit down, reapplying your face paint with careful strokes of your fingers and a brush. It was washed away under her kisses, under the grace of her tongue and the stroke of her lips.

You don't give a single fuck.

You walk out the door, your legs swinging as you walk down the cave corridor, raspily humming to yourself. She waits for you, smiling: Meulin Leijon, the most beautiful girl in the world. The glint of her teeth, the flow of her hair, the light shining from the mouth of the cave perfectly outlining her slim form and the curves of her body, so unlike yours. She's tiny and huge all at once, so much smaller than you but at the same time filling your lungs and your nostrils and your brain and your heart completely, pushing out all the worry and fear and replacing them with her scent, her sound, her taste. You wave, a smile creasing your face from behind your stitches, your eyes shutting just a bit.

“Hi Purrloz!” you hear her chirp in her wonderful voice, filling your ears with music.

Music she can never hear again.

You push those thoughts away; she would rather you forget.

“hey linkitty,” your hands reply, moving quickly and confidently. You step up in front of her and lean down as she stands on her tip toes, depositing a soft kiss on her lips. “ready to go?” you sign with one hand, your other brushing her face. She nuzzles into it, and nods. The two of you step outside the cave, ready for the night.

The moons shine bright in the sky, casting their pale light down upon Beforus. The spiny, desiccated hulks of the cities blot out the horizon, the jagged peaks of ruined buildings shooting up into the night. Ever since the meteors fell, it had been like this.

You and your friends, your Meulin, played a game together.

The sky rained fire and stone upon the world.

Civilization died, along with the majority of the planet's population.

But something changed. People gained powers, and certain symbols called to them. Monsters of oil and stone and the elements sprung to life, oozing from inky rivers and streams or the dark, mysterious corners of the world. Glb'gol'yb died... quietly. Fearsome creatures called Denizens took up their residences in the dark spots that people avoided, or the locations they could show their greatest majesty.

The world was different now.

You didn't care.

As you and she walk off into the night, in search of grist and adventure, all you cared about was one thing: you were hers again.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so some notes about the AU: if it didn't make sense, the AU is a Beforus in which SGRUB happened, but went wrong. Instead of the meteors destroying Beforus, they wiped out civilization, most of the population, and turned it into the game of SGRUB itself. Everyone left alive has a class/aspect pair, and there are 144 quest beds; one for each combination. Furthermore, the monsters and the denizens from the game inhabit the planet's surface, and the carapacians its moons. Each person has certain powers because of their class aspect combination, and while the objectives and sprites didn't carry over, the survivors are trapped in what is now a significantly more magical world.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, hope to have the next one out soon!


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